


Family Is Forever

by but_im_danger, Sebastinoodle



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Fluff, Fluff and Fluff, I mean, I owe the second chapter to my bean!, Kid!Peggy, Marvel - Freeform, Multi, Other, Stucky - Freeform, Tony is a child, clint is a dad, enjoy, it's pretty good to me, kid!Natasha, peg and nat are the kids, steve and bucky are husbands, then again i hate my writing, there's cake and coffee, what more could you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_im_danger/pseuds/but_im_danger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sebastinoodle/pseuds/Sebastinoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a series that consists of different Marvel characters in various family situations (single parent raising a kid, adoption. All that stuff.)</p>
<p>I'll update the tags as I go along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A family.

 

It's not something he'd planned to have, and especially not with his closest friend. Yet here he was; watching from the doorway of their home, white picket fence and all, whilst his husband, _husband_ , rocked their four year old daughter on his hip- softly singing a Russian lullaby, lulling her to sleep.

 

They adopted Natasha when she was two years old. Her biological family had had some financial difficulties, having moved around a lot, and the income just wasn't steady enough to raise a child. They meant well, of course, even visited when they had the chance. Natasha recognises them, opens up a bit more. Might be like that one day with Bucky and himself.

 

Bucky, surprisingly, was the one to bring up the idea of kids in the first place- about five months into their marriage. Not that they hadn't spoken about it before, but actually… _having_ them, having a concrete plan, leaving that honeymoon stage and sharing their life with another one- be it a two or sixteen year old...makes anyone nervous. There'd been fights, definitely, little disputes here and there- especially when they had to go through the adoption process and prove that they were just as good as any straight couple- like raising a kid with two parents of the same sex could be considered a 'dangerous environment'. It's only a dangerous environment when the people are bad, not because of the person they're in a fucking relationship with. He'd been amazed how Bucky'd stopped himself from punching someone during the whole ideal. The angry sex might've helped steer that problem away.

 

Steve smiled to himself, watching the two and walked over, pressed a kiss to Bucky's cheek and then to the top of Natasha's head.

 

“Hey,” he greeted softly “You get Peg' to sleep as well?”

 

“Said child is tucked in bed, stubbornly waiting for papa to read to her.”

 

“Got it,” Steve huffed out a laugh, kissed the top of Natasha's head once again and ambled off upstairs.

 

It was a miracle they could afford the place, really, what with student loans and ballet classes and school fees and day care. Add up when Bucky needed more supplies...well, they're living a whole lot more comfortably than they were back in college (can't even look at ramen without feeling queasy). Suppose Steve had Bucky to thank for that. Even if Steve made a good dime by working at a gaming company, making concept and game art, Bucky worked as a carpenter. Made most of the furniture he owned, but sometimes he'd go out of his way to make big sculptures for the wealthy, who always paid a hefty sum for, well, anything, really (if it wasn't free in the first place).

 

Steve stopped at Peggy's door, smiling to himself and then shook his head. Grabbed the door handle, gave it a turn, stepped inside to find the two year old, no doubt tired but just as stubborn as ever, clutching Agatha Christie's 'Five Little Pigs' in her tiny hands.

 

Yeah. Two year old. Agatha Christie. Can speak and cry, but read ye old English? No.

 

How she even found out about Agatha Christie had nothing to do with him. Bucky's a Sci-Fi guy. Steve's a true story guy. Maybe a teacher at school? Oh well.

 

It made Peggy happy, so he was happy.

 

“Papa,” the toddlers voice dragged him back to reality, once again, so Steve carried himself over to Peggy's bed, plopped himself on to the bean bag (Bucky's idea, which Peggy had whole heartedly agreed with- as much as a two year old could anyway) with an exaggerated huff. That got a giggle out of her. Cute.

 

Once handed the book, Peggy insistent on starting at chapter three because “Dada read to me earlier”, Steve nestled to sit in his seat comfortably, cleared his throat and began with his telling of a daughter trying to prove her mothers innocence in hopes her fiancé sees her in the best light once again. Even put on voices. A horrible, horrible impersonation of one British person after another, at least it got Peggy smiling and listening eagerly.

 

It wasn't until the very end of the chapter, two year old adamant about completing the chapter, that Steve set the book down. His voice felt slightly broken. Bucky was so reading it tomorrow night. Did Peggy understand the plot? Not that he should be concerned, more curiosity than anything.

 

Steve tucked Peggy under the covers once again, pressed a kiss to the top of her hair all bundled up in curls, and handed her a teddy bear- red and blue with little white patches from where he'd stitched it up after an awful event including a pen and a washing machine.

 

“'Night warrior queen.”

 

“I'm just a queen papa,” Peggy explained with a sleepy whisper “must be as strong as warrior to be queen.”

 

“You're right, my little queen.”

 

“Tell Nat that she's kni- umh...”

 

“Knight?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“I will,” Steve said softly, pressed one last kiss to Peggy's forehead before he walked silently to the door, eyebrows raising at the sight of Bucky looking all warm and perfect with the dark hair and romantic eyes. Motherfucker had been watching; better not have another recording on his phone. But with Bucky here, it meant that Natasha was tucked away and snug in bed. They'd originally gotten the girls to share a room, it had gone well for about...two weeks? Then Natasha had gotten stingy because Peggy kept trying to talk to her when she wanted sleep because of school or Ballet class the next morning. Lucky that they'd decorated the spare bedroom beforehand.

 

“I know I'm gorgeous, Steve, but right outside the kids door? Now that's disgusting.” Bucky hummed.

 

“You're disgusting for even thinking it, guess your ugly mug matches your personality too.” The blond sassed back, ducking to avoid a whack to thee head, and head to the bedroom- did have to role his eyes at a pat to the butt though. Bucky was touchy touchy all the time, not that he minded, put the filter on in front of the kids at least. But at night...a pest, a best. Grouchy demon who wants to sleep all day at worst. Secretly loved it though, and pretty sure that Bucky loves getting showered with affection, one of the many ways Steve had tried to seduce him into prom. But it's an embarrassing story, prefers to keep it locked up in Narnia.

 

“That is both offensive to me, and yet funny.”

 

“You've gone soft, Buck. Joinin' my level.”

 

“With a perky butt like yours around, I'm definitely sinking down to your level, and so is everyone who deems you sexually attractive.” Steve rolled his eyes, small smile playing at his lips as he walked into their room. Could really take a note out the kid's book, place was messy as hell. Partly Bucky to blame, who had too many books for the bookshelf and windowsill, and then the damn drawers on the bed. Been growing that collection since he was in middle school.

 

The blond huffed out a laugh, feeling the familiar tickle of Bucky's lips brushing against the back of his neck, hands curling to rest on his hip, squeeze, and then slipped around to rest on his lower stomach.

 

“Mm?”

 

“Never got t'welcome y'home properly.”

 

“I feel like you're about to.”

 

“And you don't want to?”

 

“You know how bad I am at keeping you quiet, Buck, especially with two kids just down the hall.” Steve heard a small groan and then felt as Bucky moved away, slumped across the room and flopped on to the bed- fully clothed no less. The blond chuckled softly and stayed where he stood, toed off his shoes, awkwardly peeled off his socks and shed down to nothing but his boxers. Definitely got a glance of interest from the significant other at that.

 

Steve made his way over, perched himself at Bucky's side and ducked his head forward, lips meeting Bucky's in a slow, firm kiss, getting the deeper the further it went on. Meanwhile, the blond took to stripping Bucky of whatever clothing he could. Which happened to be all of it (thank god for button ups) barring his boxers.

 

“Doing that...y'goin' after my heart Rogers?”

 

“I already got y'mug, figured I should go for the entire thing.”

 

“Hurtin' my feelings, Rogers.”

 

“Barnes, actually.” Steve grinned, got an eye roll from Bucky at that one, and pulled back. Bucky let out a whine and tugged the blond back, who just smothered him with his weight for a few seconds before rolling on to his side of the bed. The domestic life, something he enjoyed thoroughly. Content to be content.

 

Steve turned to face Bucky, smile on his face; “Bed wiggle?”

 

“Bed wiggle.” Came the reply, and then the two overly large, absolutely mature, parents wriggled and wormed their way under the bed covers, did a jiggle to get themselves warm beneath the cold covers before Steve tugged Bucky close, back to chest, arm hugged around his waist and lips against his partners neck. Bucky let out a small whine and shimmied around, burying his face into Steve's neck and hugged an arm around him too.

 

“Still in denial about being the little spoon, Buck? It's been 9 years.”

 

“Nah, jus' rather get drool on you instead of the pillow, you seen the colour that crap goes?”

 

“Glad to know y'value me so highly.” Steve replied and let out a yawn, tugging the covers over them both and snuggled up even closer to the brunet. This was his favourite part of the day, getting home and curling up in bed with Bucky, secure in the fact their two little girls were tucked up and sleeping in their beds all snug and warm- he hoped. Kids were unpredictable. Now he knows how his Ma felt...sorry, Ma.

 

Bucky was the first one to fall asleep, mostly 'cause Steve coaxed him too, massaging the back of his neck slow and deep with his free hand, and all warmth and muscle surrounding the smaller male. Geez, still sounded weird. Bucky being the smaller one. Wasn't until his final year in high school that Steve'd started bulking up, y'know, instead of hiding inside and being the “life of the party”. Growth spurt had helped too.

 

The blond watched Bucky sleep for a while. It was weird, calling Bucky his husband because he's more than that. He's a best friend, a lover, a father, a...a soulmate.

 

His everything.

 

Steve curled up, pressing a kiss to a babbling Bucky's forehead, tired smile playing at the blonds lip as he fell asleep.

 

Their family might not be common, or considered truly normal, yet. But he couldn't have asked for anything better, not a single detail that should be changed. Maybe one day his kids will have kids, marry, or not marry, go to college or go backpacking or becoming an illustrator from home. Seeing them happy...seeing them content. Content to be content.

 

Yeah, that sounds nice.


	2. Coffee Pot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parent!Clint and Kid!Tony
> 
> (I'm not great at summaries)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe this to but_im_danger, I wouldn't have gotten it done without her. Writes a great Tony, too!  
> You should check her out!

Aw coffee, no. That's all he asked for in the early morning or middle of the night. Coffee. The one thing he couldn't have because Tony had gotten curious and dropped the coffee pot on the kitchen floor. Glass everywhere. How he got up there, Clint didn't know. And didn't want to. Not right now, anyway. Not when he felt like breaking a four year old kids toy as revenge for the coffee pot.

 

A lazy hand ran through dirty blond hair, couldn't remember the last time he'd tried styling it, and then Clint ambled off into the living room- internally groaning at the mess that had been made in no less than an hour- and god damn it- “Tony, buddy, I told you to stop writing maths on the wall.” He walked over and lifted up the tiny brunet, hold firm as he set him down on the couch.

 

 

“No!” Tony cried, wiggling around in Clint’s arms, trying desperately to get back to his math problem. “No, no, no!” he squealed loudly, immediately trying to escape from the couch after he’d been put there.

 

He _had_ to finish this math problem, and working on the walls was just easier for him. His little four-year-old body didn’t like being bent over papers, so the walls were the only logical substitute for papers.

 

Quick as he could, Tony was off the couch, crayon in hand, ready to go back to his equation.

 

Clint cursed whoever created Lego. Fun to play with, not fun to stand on- it hurt, okay?! As he thought up whatever expletive he knew, mother language or not, Clint took to picking up Tony again. Kept the little squirt in his hold, plucked the crayon away easily and dropped it on to the recently repaired coffee table- Tony, again. “Listen, brain-bot, daddy has to clean up the mess in the kitchen. I'd appreciate it if you didn't draw on _these_ walls. How about in your bedroom? You've got a huge chalkboard hung up in there, even be able to colour code all of your maths stuff.”

 

Tony wriggled around a bit more, but when Clint mentioned going back to his room, he stopped. His little brow furrowed in concentration as he thought of what Clint said.

 

“I help?” Tony asked, looking up at Clint with questioning and unsure eyes. He never offered to help, he was more prone to wanting to cause as much chaos as possible but this was not one of those times. He wanted to stay close to Clint.

 

Clint smiled slightly and ran his fingers through Tony's hair, twirling and making the floof of brown on top of the toddlers head rise. “That's a nice offer, kid, but no. You remember how daddy tells you its unsafe to play with his 'party' arrows because they would hurt you? The glass would probably hurt you the same way, and neither of us want you getting all covered in plasters because of it.”

 

Tony furrowed his brow, shaking his head and looked at Clint.

 

“No, I help,” he insisted. “I be good, I no touch glass!” he whined, wrapping his arms around Clint’s neck tightly. He really didn’t want to be by himself for a while, and he really just wanted to spend time with Clint, who was more of a daddy than anyone he had known. Tony nuzzled into the side of Clint’s neck, holding tighter than his four year old body seemed capable of doing.

 

How he'd adopted such a stubborn kid, he'd never know. It was a miracle that Clint could even keep a four year old alive longer than a day, barely took care of himself most of the time. Tony had come into his life about six months ago, when Clint had still been doing shady work to get by. How the situation ended up with a four year old permanently vacating his home was definitely a surprise, but it got the guy on the straight and narrow. So he's thankful. Had grown to the love little nerd, too.

 

“Tell you what,” the blond hummed and pried Tony's little arms away, setting him down and crouched to meet at eye level “If you want t'help daddy, go and get the small brush and pan from the closet? In the bottom of the grey drawers.”

 

Initially, Tony reached for Clint again, but paused once he heard Clint’s proposal. Then, he was off, to the closet and getting the dust pan and brush for Clint.

 

When he first came to live with Clint, he wasn’t a fan. Actually, Tony wasn’t a fan of being anywhere, really. He never had a stable anything, and acting out seemed to be the only way to get any attention. But, after a few weeks, he grew to love Clint. He didn’t understand it though, how Clint seemed to genuinely care about if Tony was fed, or warm, or needed anything. That concept was foreign to him; his previous caretakers never really paid him much mind.

 

But Clint was different. He always made sure Tony was warm before he went to bed and fed three times a day.

 

A moment later, Tony tracked Clint down and handed him the dustpan and brush, just like Clint had asked for.

 

Clint watched as the toddler toddled off, small smile on his lips. Whilst Tony went and ventured for the brush and pan, the newly appointed father grabbed a piece of paper and the only pencil within the crayon pile, legs crossed as he wrote down Tony's math equations and whatever else was there. He wasn't stupid, no, but Clint's intelligence was more...mental, less planned out on paper, and more thought of quickly. And the fact he dropped out of high school to be with his brother might factor in.

 

At the sound of pattering footsteps, Clint turned, set down the piece of paper and pencil, just smiled at Tony. Took the brush and pan in one hand, ruffled his hair as thanks and stood up- “You stay in here, make sure not to draw any higher than the plug socket, and I'll go clean up, okay brain-bot?”

 

Tony smiled, beaming at Clint when he used the affectionate nickname always reserved for him. He nodded, showing that he understood, and in a surprising twist, he leaned forward and gave Clint a quick-but-sweet kiss on the cheek.

 

“Okay,” he nodded, picking his crayon back up but instead of going to the wall, he grabbed a sheet of paper. He had an idea for a surprise for his new daddy.

 

Clint's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't been...expecting that. The kid was cute at the most surprising of times.

 

He left Tony to get back to his, probably, middle school level mathematics and trudged along to the kitchen- still bitter over the fact his coffee pot was destroyed. Bitter like the coffee he didn't have. Ah well, could drink juice boxes for a couple days until he went out and got a new pot. Have to coax Tony into sharing them though.

 

The archer crouched down, careful as he could be to keep his feet out of the glass' line of attack, and swiped up- eyes assessing carefully, making sure not to miss any. Excluding the few that had jabbed and pierced the skin of his foot. Once everything was clean and toddler hazard free, including his foot which now sported a couple Dora the Explorer plasters, Clint head back into the living room with two juice boxes. “Got y'a drink, brain-bot.”

 

Tony blushed when Clint came back. “Thanks,” he said, smiling and taking the juice box from Clint, drinking a good bit in one single gulp. He looked at Clint reached behind him, handing him the piece of paper he’d been working on.

 

He was not a child who liked to draw, by any means, but Clint was worth it. Tony drew a picture of their house (well, to the best of his ability as a four year old), and the barn out back. In front of the house stood Clint, holding Tony’s hand. Between the two, Tony had drawn a heart, and wrote their names, using an arrow to indicate which was which.

 

Tony waited while Clint looked at his masterpiece. He was nervous and anxious, he never did something like this before, and he wanted Clint to like it more than anything.

 

Clint just about drank his juice box in one go, despite the amount of times he'd tried to savour the damn things. Must be the eat or go hungry thing as a kid that stuck with him, during that time when he and Barney didn't really have anyone except each other. About the time he perched himself on the edge of the couch, Tony was handing over a piece of paper and waiting nervously- could tell by the little twitch he got in his fingers- for Clint to look at it.

 

The blond set down his juice box and took a good look at the...drawing. Huh, Tony had...drawn them. Cute. The house and the barn and the heart with their names...Clint's heart totally swell and he so didn't feel like crying. Nope.

 

“It's...it's amazing, brain-bot. Real good,” He looked over at the toddler and smiled, small and warm, and waved him over. Lifted Tony to rest on his lap, pressed a kiss to the side of his head, and then his chin on the boys skinny shoulder, staring down at the drawing once again. “This is getting a frame and getting hung up wherever _you_ want it.”

 

Tony smiled, feeling so warm inside as he was lifted and brought ever closer to Clint. He looked up at Clint and smiled.

 

“I want to hang it in here,” he said, looking around the room thoughtfully, before pointing over the fireplace. “There.”

 

With that, Tony leaned back against Clint’s front and smiled, sighing happily and drinking his juice in relative silence. Surprisingly, he really liked drawing. Typically Tony stuck with the more cerebral activities, like math, but with the expression that drawing offered, he felt better, lighter, and maybe even freer? He didn’t know how to describe it to anyone, let alone himself, but he did like it. Maybe he’d have to colour more often.

 

“Sorry about the pot,” Tony said quietly, looking down at his hands.

 

“And there it shall hang,” Clint smiled and rest a calloused hand over Tony's tiny, clothed, tummy, sitting in silence as he drank his juice box. The calmest he'd been all day, really. Should be a couple of spare photo frames hanging around somewhere, do it later tonight.

 

“Don't worry about the pot, brain-bot. Just gives me an excuse to steal aaaaall your juice boxes,” He teased and kissed the young boys cheek, smiling warmly. Wouldn't change the outcome from six months ago even if he had the chance.

 

Tony gasped, looking scandalized. “No! Not all of them!” he complained, giggling a little when he received a kiss. “You can have half, we’ll split them,” he looked up, his brown eyes kind and loving. He loved Clint, and he knew that now. But, he still wasn’t sure how he could ever tell him that. But, he could do the best he could for the moment. He placed his tiny hand over Clint’s that was still resting on his belly.

 

“Ew, rough!” he squealed in surprise, not used to or expecting Clint’s rough fingers.

 

“Sure, we can split them. But we have to make a deal with the apple juice boxes,” Clint hummed, raising an eyebrow in amusement at Tony's reaction to his hands. The blond turned his hand, let Tony's tiny hand rest on the palm of his own. “A lot of people have rough hands, brain-bot. Mine are because of my archery, and because when daddy was a little boy he use to be really naughty, don't follow by example, okay?”

 

Tony gently ran his fingers over Clint’s eyes more confused, and brow furrowing. Clint’s hands were rough, but that’s wasn’t what he was thinking about. There was something about how Clint called himself dad—and he was, he was Tony’s dad, but the concept was a new one for Tony, and his little mind couldn’t wrap around it.

 

“Daddy,” he said softly, still thinking. “You make sure I warm, you feed me, that makes you my daddy?” he said slowly, trying to sound out exactly what had been going on in his little brain.

 

“Well...not everyone has a daddy, some have aunt's and uncles and siblings, or simply people who make sure they're warm and eat. I think of you as my kid, but, I'm not going to make you call me your daddy, or make you think of me as one. Call me Clint if you like, okay, brain-bot?” The blond replied, hopefully Tony understood, because he didn't really know how to...explain, all of this.

 

That did answer his question. Most of it, anyway. But Tony couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the people before Clint. Vaguely, he remembered a sweet lady who smelled like caramel, and a man who wasn’t around much, but who looked like him. He wanted to know what happened to them, but he didn’t know how to ask. He wasn’t even sure if these weren’t dreams, or possible adoptive parents that didn’t want him.

 

“But you are,” Tony turned and looked at Clint, his eyes very sure. “You my daddy. You take care of me,” he said, as if he had never been more sure in all of his four years.

 

Clint smiled warmly at the answer, let out a small huff of laughter and pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead, hand from his stomach lifting to push back the boys hair gently. “Okay, I'm your daddy, and I take care of you- but, did you know, that you take care of daddy all the time too?”

 

His eyes widened, surprised at his new role in all this. Leaning a bit into Clint’s hand in his hair, he looked up quizzically. “I take care of you?” He asks, making sure he understood what was being said to him. There was no way he could cook for Clint; he was too little and couldn’t reach the stove, and besides that, he wasn’t allowed near the stove because it was hot.

 

“How I do that?”

 

“That's right, you take care of me too.” Clint smiled warmly and brushed Tony's hair with his fingers once more before he pulled back. “See, sometimes daddy gets very sad days, you know that right? Those days daddy would be very happy to stay in bed and hide away from the world, and not do anything. But, with you around, it helps daddy to get up and take care of you, to ignore the super sad feelings when he can. And the days he can't, Aunt Nat goes and takes you out to museum, yeah? You're helping daddy fight the sad days.”

 

The blond let out a breath and rest his forehead against Tony's, eyes squeezed shut, letting his breath calm before he pulled back. “I love you very much, okay, brain-bot?”

 

Tony’s eyes widened as he heard this news. _That_ made so much sense. He knew there were some days when Clint wasn’t right, where he wasn’t himself. The first time Tony had noticed a change in Clint’s behaviour, he thought he would be going back to the adoption centre for sure, but when that hadn’t happened, Tony was beyond perplexed. Clint was surely a different person than Tony had ever known and now, he knew that wasn’t such a bad thing.

 

Tony didn’t know it, he was too young to, but his little heart grew about three sizes since he lived with Clint. He was not empathetic. He knew how to love someone else, Clint and Aunt Nat, who was fantastic. But now, knowing what he knew about Daddy and his sad days, he was determined to save Clint like Clint had saved him.

 

“I love you,” Tony said quietly, for the first time. His heart swelled when he said it, his cheeks turned red, and he looked at Clint and smiled. “I love you, Daddy,” he said again, and meant it very much.

 

“I love you too,” Clint replied, repeating himself and smiled warmly down at Tony. He'd never get enough of these little guy's surprises.

 

He thought for a moment and then grinned, hoisting Tony up so both tiny feet rest on either leg. “Tell y'what, since you've been super helpful today, and drew me an amazing picture, why don't we make a cake? And then we can watch whatever you want for the rest of the day.”

 

“What kind of cake?” Tony said, excitedly, wiggling around a bit in Clint’s lap in pure excitement. “I like chocolate!” he said excitedly, eyes wide. Chocolate was his absolute favorite. It made him feel like he could do anything; little did he know this was due to the caffeine and not superhero qualities found within chocolate itself.

 

“You really let me help?” Tony said as an afterthought, so happy and honoured that Clint sought out his help.

 

“Chocolate it is, and of course I want y'to help, we're both eating it after all.” Clint grinned and ruffled Tony's hair, set the boy down and watched as he ran off to the kitchen with excitement an eagerness that even Clint hadn't seen before. Kid really liked cake, huh? The blond chuckled softly and got up from his seat, fingers running through dirty blond hair once more, and then he made for the kitchen too. Almost as eager as Tony.

 

Safe to say, it was a disaster.

 

Mainly because of Clint.

 

The bag of flour had freed itself from Clint's grip, would no doubt be in certain areas he didn't want to think about. Damn sweatpants. Would've gotten Tony's hair if the toddler hadn't decided to put a large green bowl over his head beforehand.

 

It did take a while to clean up, there was no doubt about that. But, Tony jumped at the opportunity to help his daddy, and they eventually did get the brunt of the mess cleaned up after the better part of an hour.

 

The cake that resulted wasn’t half bad; they enjoyed a slice apiece while watching a marathon of Little Einsteins, Tony’s favorite show. He was so excited to show his daddy his favorite show and his favorite characters. After a quick dinner, Clint had wrestled Tony into the tub, although Clint was sure to make it quick.

 

“I clean,” Tony said as Clint towelled off his brown hair.

 

“You're clean,” Clint answered, careful to make sure no water rolled down Tony's onesie- red and gold. Had picked it out a couple months ago, pretty cute really. Once done, Clint chucked the towel into the hamper, lifted the toddler to rest on his hip, and carried the four year old to his bedroom. “Y'sleeping with a plushy tonight?” The blond questioned. Tony had always been pretty funny about toys that he couldn't build.

 

Tony considered this proposition. Some of the plushies were downright unable to be trusted—he couldn’t take them apart without destroying them, ridiculous. But, there was one plushy that made him smile, that always was soft and always promised to make him feel better, never failing. Tony pointed to the small animal, a penguin, sitting on the toy chest.

 

“I think I want that one,” he said.

 

“Alright,” Clint smiled and walked over to Tony's bed, pulling back the covers and set Tony down, let the boy get comfy before he grabbed the penguin- handed it to Tony, watched in amusement as the toddler shimmied to get comfy, before tucking him in. He pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead and smiled warmly, “Goodnight, brain-bot.”

 

Tony smiled up at Clint, holding the penguin stuffy close to his chest.

 

“Night, daddy,” he said, smiling at Clint and snuggling closer into the blankets that were cocooned around him. He watched his dad leave, before rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. In order to fall asleep, he started practising his multiplication tables in his head.

 

Clint made sure to close the door silently, hearing the faint click of the lock and then head to his room- decorated in blacks and greys and the odd dash of purple here and there. He set Tony's drawing on the bed side table, shrugged off his sweats and t-shirt, traded them for fresher ones.

 

The blond kept in his hearing aides. They'd probably get broken soon enough, but he couldn't leave Tony vulnerable like that.

 

Clint got under the covers, cold and creased, curling up and smushed his face against the pillow, didn't take long for him to drop off to sleep. Content.

 

It didn’t take long for Tony to realize he couldn’t fall asleep, on the other hand. He went over his multiplications several times, even doing the thirteen multiplications, just to tire himself out. But, that didn’t work. He rolled over, nothing. He thrust the blankets off of him. Nothing. He pulled them over his head. Nothing. Sighing and rubbing his little eyes, Tony looked at the clock and wondered what Clint was doing.

 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was holding the penguin close to his chest and was padding along down the hallway to where Clint’s room was. He pushed the door open and peered in. From what he could see, Clint was asleep. Quietly, he toddled to the bed and pulled himself up on it, wriggling himself into Clint’s arms.

 

Clint remained silent, letting his body seem pliant enough as the young boy snuggled up. Guess he couldn't sleep. The blond let out a sniff and wriggled in his sleep, arm lazily hugging around Tony's waist and pulled him close, careful and gentle, gave a sleepy murmur of “Teddy bear.” And continued with his act.

 

Only until Tony was truly asleep did Clint press a kiss to the top of his head, murmur a “'Night brain-bot.” and then lull himself to sleep. It had taken months, for Tony to tell Clint that he loved him, same as it had took Clint to tell Tony, the four year old, how he helped improve and wash away the sad says. But now it was all out...well, it was perfect. Except for the coffee pot, but that he'd already forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments, kudos and criticism appreciated.
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**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! 
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> Comments, criticism and kudos appreciated!
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> Leave chapter suggestions in my ask box: http://buchahanbarnes.tumblr.com/


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